Born of Iron
by Tabac Iberez
Summary: Despite the Ōarai Tankery team's work in preserving their school, the bureaucrats must still close a school. More honors must be added to their battle flags, and fast. In a series of desperate maneuvers, Miho and her classmates must find a way to ensure their Tankery team and their school may continue. They are not alone, though- their entire ship will work with them for this goal.
1. Honor's Failings

Born of Iron

Tabac Iberez

(Advanced warning- The above-the-vowel bar is not a key I have. Sorry about that)

Chapter 1- Honor's Failings

It was two weeks after Ooari's incredible victory against Black Forrest Peak, and Miho was not feeling relaxed. The tide was turned today- but one mark of honor wouldn't save their school forever. Time marched on, and it ground down the achievements of the mighty as sure as the waves that lapped against Ooari's hull, saved by two hairs from the hands of the breaker yard or the "retirement" shoals, where she would be abandoned until times changed and called for an out-of-date wreckage- probably to serve as the basis of an artificial reef. Miho would not go gentle unto the night, though. One tournament brought them breathing room: it was their duty to secure their future securely. Taking that thought in hand, Miho sought out her telephone. A few quick punches brought their student council president up, and the dialing went through in less than a blink.

"Hello, Student Council President speaking."

"Anzu-san, it's Miho. Can I come by and talk later?"

"Miho-san? Alright! Listen, would lunch at the Tankery sheds be good for you?"

"Of course, Anzu-san."

"Thank you, Miho-san. I have a pair of people you need to meet, by the way. Bye!"

"Bye…"

The brief conversation did not help Miho's nerves. Still, she made sure her things were in order. Lunch would be interesting today, if Anzu was in one of her energetic moods. Checking her watch, he figured she had about a half hour until lunch. Looks like it was time to grab something and go.

Arriving at the Tankery sheds, Miho looked around for Anzu. The short redhead could be something of a magnum, so it was always best to be prepared. Still, Miho was a little surprised by the sight of a picnic table sitting to the side of the parade ground, in the shade of the reviewing tower. With Anzu there were a pair of people Miho had never seen before. One was obviously a teacher, with steal gray hair laced liberally with silver sitting over an as-yet unlined face. She was pretty, in an older and more mature way, wearing a knee-length plaid kilt that bore no resemblance to the uniform with a dark blue blouse that suggested one of the below-deck trades. Next to her was a pale-skinned girl with bright copper hair bound in a pair of horsetail braids, wearing a similar blouse with a dead black work kilt covered in pockets. As Anzu waved Miho over, she wondered who exactly the pair Anzu had stolen from below the decks were.

"Hello, Miho-san!" Anzu called out cheerfully, waving her over. A respectable spread was laid out on the table, all untouched. Sitting down, Miho regarded the food with one eye and her Student Council president with the other. After being dragooned into Tankery, Miho had quickly discovered Anzu's iron will where matters concerning the school came in- as well as her absolute power in bending things she needed to her way. Whatever was coming, Miho sensed it to be big- which meant that she would be forced to ride the wave of change or be swept away, just as she was in the Pravada battle.

"Hello, Anzu-san. Have you been well?"

"Of course, Miho-san, of course! Food, then business, yes?"

"Of course."

After a thanks for the food and a brief moment to dish, all four began to eat. Still wary, Miho caught the fact that both the teacher and the unusual student had appetites that rivaled Hanna's while eating in a neat and fast manner. By contrast, her and Anzu were moving at a snail's pace, almost like a Renault FT compared to a ELC AMX. As the food was finished, the unknown student thanked Anzu for the meal, smiling happily.

"Now, to business." Anzu said, smiling the all-hands-brace-for-impact-now-go-to-ramming-speed grin Miho knew all too well.

"First off, introductions." Anzu began. "Thanks to our unexpected victory and the cup prize money, the Headmaster of Ooari decided we needed a full-time support staff as reward for our work in preserving his beloved academy. Miho-san, meet Valance Therese, or Valance-sama. She was one of the supply managers below decks, but is now in charge of our supplies."

"Thank you, Kadotani-san. You can call me Valance-san, or Chieftain by the way. Most of what I'm going to do is scrounge around and get you some stuff out of deep storage- rather like that Porsche Tiger your… Rabbit Team found. More importantly, you're going to be working with my apprentice, Feraxii Anamana. Feraxii-san, if you could introduce yourself?"

"Certainly, Chieftain." Anamara said, nodding her head gently. Grinning a small Cheshire smile, she continued. "I would be Feraxii Anamara, Valance-san's apprentice supply chief. You all can call me Quartermaster, though. My job is to make sure you can do yours, in essence. I keep you stocked up, and can put in a call to the machinist's shops for new parts you need. I also am going to be working on getting you some better equipment, as well as possibly more tanks if everything works out."

Miho looked moderately surprised. Schooling her face, she got to the meat of the discussion. The student Council had done most of the logistics before, but Miho still remembered the curt, businesslike manner of the Kuromorimine logistics team. They had a record that was unparalleled, and could mothball a tank in less than a week. While Ooari's automotive club had a better track record, it was a strain on them to keep eight tanks working well above their factory statistics and participate in matches. A dedicated logistics team would ease much of the strain on the entire Tankery team. Still, the talk of new tanks was a bit over the top. Anzu seemed to be in agreement there, as she carefully probed Anamara.

"So, Feraxii-san, how would you get us more tanks? It would be a miracle if we could expand our force some, as we have never been on equal footing numerically."

"Please, call me Quartermaster. Getting more tanks isn't hard- you just need to know who to ask and how to phrase it. As a matter of fact, I already made some arrangements soon after getting the news I was reassigned to the Tankery staff, and put in a requisition with Saunders."

Anzu and Miho were both shocked. As rich as Saunders was, the notion of them simply handing over a tank if asked politely made no sense to them. Anamara continued, with a touch of a predatory gleam in her eyes.

"A good quartermaster is never more than eight degrees separated from something she needs, ladies. Saunders has a standing policy of having other schools lease them storage space for a modest fee or the usage of a facility or item. I lent them approximately enough space for one Ram II, and waived the fee in exchange for us to use it. Considering they haven't fielded a Ram II for twenty years, I figure they'll never notice. For all I know, they might want to Lend-Lease us more tanks, or sell them outright."

Miho and Anzu were both now well more than moderately shocked. This unassuming girl had just delivered them an enormous boost in their program, and seemed ready to continue rocking the boat to get them more of everything. Anzu recovered first, smiling and thanking Anamara. Miho sat back, and smiled. Yukari and Anamara needed to meet, and at the first possible circumstance.

(A/N: Gonna say sorry again about the not having bars above the vowels that need them. I don't have that button, so if anyone can send me the QR code that would be wonderful. Anyway, reviews are welcomed- just keep it civil please.)


	2. Dynamic Preperations

Born of Iron

Tabac Iberez

Chapter 2: Dynamic Preparation

The next day, Miho found herself looking at the Tankery sheds and wondering about what was happening. Anamara had taken no small liberties, having taken the rightmost shed and completely emptying it. Walking in, she marveled at the spotless interior, noting the distinct lack of junk. A low wall had been set up, forcing the rest of the Tankery areas away from what Anamara had staked out as her domain. Noticing an odd cage in the back, Miho looked at it oddly, before hearing it start to rumble and rattle. Backing away, she watched as the cage's purpose was revealed- it was a safety cage for a lift to the core of the ship, and it was making this trip up loaded well. It took a moment for Miho to notice the collection of motley figures on the lift intermixed with barrels and crates, but when she did it was amazing. Anamara had brought with her thirty young helpers, as well as what looked like a whole lot of… sweet potatoes?

"Ahh, Miho-san! Just the person I was looking for!" Anamara called, jumping down from the pile of containers. Laughing raucously, she grinned and beckoned around the cleared shed-turned-warehouse. "Welcome to Quartermaster Central! If you need it, we can find it!"

Miho was a little confused. All she saw were sacks of sweet potatoes, barrels of sweet potatoes, crates of sweet potatoes… "Excuse me, but how are you going to turn this-" Miho said, "-Into things like parts and supplies?"

Anamara just chuckled. "Remember the eight degrees of separation remark?"

"Yes, but I didn't understand what you meant."

"Simple." Anamara said, chuckling. "Say you want… oh… a new set of tracks for your Porsche Tiger, and want to save some cash. You send the req form over to me, and I find who's willing to swap what for the tracks. Hypothetically, our track guy wants a transmission from a T-34. So I call up Pravada, see what they're willing to swap for a T-34 transmission. They want a couple thousand bolts. So I go over to my bolt guy in Indonesia, and tell him I need a couple thousand bolts and I'm paying in food. Week later, I get the bolts, swap the bolts for the transmission, and swap the transmission for the tracks. That deal was four degrees of separation. You understand it better now?"

Miho nodded. It made sense, in a looping way. Smiling in relief that she wouldn't be doing that, Miho laughed and responded.

"You do that- I just practice the business end of Tankery."

Anamara sighed in relief. "We all have our strong spots. The Ram II I requisitioned will be coming in in about a week, so you should get a crew together. If push comes to shove, my cargo handlers can man it in a match, though."

Miho agreed, nodding. "I'll get on it. The Ram II takes five, so we can cut it down to three-"

Anamara disagreed sharply. "No. Under crewing is part of why the Chi-Nu did so bad last tournament. Get your crew ready- I can drum a few students out of the Academy if need be."

Miho nodded, surprised by the forceful tone in the quartermaster's voice. "Extra permanent hands will always be appreciated. If you will excuse me, the teams are arriving."

Watching the teams assemble on the parade ground, Miho got ready to deliver the good news of quartermasters and new tanks. After finishing her opening, Miho called up Anamara and introduced her.

"… and for the hard work we managed to do in the last tournament, the ship's administrators have seen fit to give us access to some personal from below decks. Chief among them, our new manager of supplies and acquisition, Feraxii Anamara. Feraxii-san has been a huge asset so far in our Tankery program so far, going as far as to ensure that we will have a new tank for the upcoming season!"

At this, the entire Tankery class let off a grateful cheer. They were all veterans now, having passed through the gauntlet of last year's tournament. After they settled down, Miho announced their planned activities- a series of range runs and races to ensure that gunnery and driving were up to par, cumulated by a mock battle if there was time remaining.

As the motley collection of tanks converged on the firing range, Miho got ready to watch. On the drive over, she had explained the plan- ten rounds stationary, then ten rounds at ten, twenty, and thirty kph respectively. A second range would be used for the moving runs, with a fake tank and a scoring area for how close the shot got. It wasn't for pinpoint accuracy- rather, it was a test of their suppresive fire. As each tank rolled up to the firing line, Miho got her binoculars out and started scanning the assembled group_. Alright, Turtle-san is good_, Miho thought, watching each shot hit the target. Scrolling over to the next tank, Miho smiled_. Rabbit-san is really going at it_, she thought, _but their 37 mm gunner needs a little less speed and a little more accuracy. We're not going to be fighting TOGs or anything. _Next to them, the B1 bis was thumping away, slow and steady_. Hmm, seems Mallard-san has the opposite problem of Rabbit-san._ Taking a second to check her own target, Miho smiled and relaxed. Hanna had drilled all ten rounds into an empty space that looked like only five rounds had torn it open. Checking the others, she noted that all of them had done fairly well, with at least nine rounds on target. All of them, that is, except Anteater team in the Chi-Nu. Frowning, Miho asked Mako to take her over. Looking at the target, Miho saw that of the six rounds they had fired, two had hit the target. That was bad- very bad. For the kind of maneuvers that Miho planned, good run-and-gun skills were needed. How could Anteater team do this when they failed basic marksmanship? Thinking hard, Miho asked Saori to have everyone move to the second range and begin the run-and-gun exercises one at a time while Miho took Hana to help Anteater team. While Hana taught Nekota some tricks to get the Chi-Nu's gun under control, Miho guided the rest of Anglerfish team to supervise the run-and-gun work as well as the races.

At the impromptu racetrack, Miho watched with a great deal of pride. Each team was clocking in at well below their expected times, with Duck team and Leopon taking the cake for most seconds removed. Writing the times down, Miho smiled… until Anteater team arrived. She supposed it was only to be expected- Anteater team was the metaphorical eleventh-hour addition, with very little experience, even including the battle with Black Forrest Peak. As Hanna climbed into the gunner's seat wearily, Miho had to cajole Mako out to help Anteater. With Mako helping Anteater team, Miho could finally practice her nearly-abandoned abilities at driving tanks. After crashing into the third branch, Miho decided that her skills had eroded to the point where not driving was the better option. After returning the tanks to their sheds and dismissing the crews, Miho stumbled home in a daze. In the back of her mind, a thought came about unbidden_. Now you know why Kuromorimine uses such rigid tactics. It requires only obedience, and works beautifully with undertrained crews. The tanks make up for the failures of the tanker. Most of the time_. Shaking her head, Miho banished the thought. _My Tankery style will be different. It must be- after all, I cannot afford to never retreat. _


	3. Warrior's Bane

Born of Iron 3

Tabac Iberez

Chapter 3: The Bane of Warriors

It was three in the morning, and something was going on. Grumbling slightly, Miho rolled over, conking her head on a loose shell casing. This woke her up fast, nearly causing her to bang her head on an ammo rack. It took a minute before she realized she must have fallen asleep in her Panzer. _Odd, I havn't done that in years…_ she thought groggily, looking out a hatch for what was making the noise. Not two seconds later, she noticed the lift coming up, sans sweet potatoes. This time an utterly massive crate was sitting on it, with handlers in blue jumpsuits swarming around it. Moving to her commander's hatch, Miho stuck her head up and watched the massive crate roll forwards. The quartermaster's mates waited to get it settled, and proceeded to swarm it with crowbars, wedges, and sledges. Standing in a bucket rig, Anamara looked on the operations, smiling tightly. Speaking into the PA system for the sheds, she barked orders at the mates, watching their every step. Miho didn't catch all the remarks, but she did hear a distinctive curse and the lines "That is THE LAST TIME EVER we route through St. Gloriana! I don't care if Katushya, Nizushimi and Anchovie all see the thing, we are NOT letting those English furballs within six nautical miles of our shipping!"

Rather obviously, there were some problems. Now up to the point that she could walk out of the tank and look at the crate, Miho was impresd. Lines of massive iron spikes nailed the wood together, while copper bands added an extra layer of security. As she approached, one of the girls noticed Miho and yelled.

"BYSTANDER! EVERYONE, BUDDY CHECK!"

The work came to a dead stop as every girl imidiantly rushed to a partner, clasping hands together, and throwing them in the air. Rolling her eyes, Anamara lowered the bucket and looked Miho over. Neither knew why Miho had felt the need to take a catnap in her tank, but there had to be a reason.

"Good morning, Miho-san."

"Ummm?"

There was no good way to handle this situation. Finally, Anamara just sighed and told the mates to continue unpacking. Taking Miho aside, she apologized in a low voice.

"Sorry about that, Nishizumi-san. Didn't know you were in there."

Miho nodded, tired. Smiling just a tad, Anamra chuckled and slung one of Miho's arms over her shoulders, in case she tried to fall back asleep. Walking her back to her house, Anamra smiled as Miho opened the door and stumbled into bed. Closing the door after her, Anamara chuckled softly.

"Goodnight, sweet prince."

Behind her, one of her mates coughed quietly. Turning around, Quartermaster looked at her helper, who leaned passively on a railing.

"You know, I sometimes forget why we're helping them." The mate said quietly, her soft voice barely caught by Anamara's ears. It was a voice that was stained with regret, mixed with a thin layer of pride. "I forget, and then I see the stars, and remember."

"It does remind us that this is our home, and not any other." Anamra replied, letting the same murky tones roll through her voice as the pair walked back to the Tankery sheds. "I think us technical students sometimes forget we are at a school, sometimes. That we can have fun."

"You know, I've been on four different academy ships" the mate said, smiling now. "This is the only one I remember caring about, though."

Anamra looked over at her mate. "Why?" she asked, as if to alleviate the invisible tension.

"Because," the mate said, looking into the sky once more, "We belowdecks work for our home. Every day, we pound the steel and keep this place afloat, putting our blood, sweat, and tears on the line for this ship. And on those other ships, we would see the Academy students and we would wonder- what did they do? What purpose did they play in keeping our home afloat? The answer was simple- nothing. Wake up, learn, and go back home where they could laugh and play. Here… here our eyes were opened. We saw that the academy students kept the administrators off our backs. More importantly, though, we saw something far more important. We saw the topsiders, the ones who were bathed in daylight work just as hard as us to keep their home safe. We saw that, and they earned our respect. They might not notice it, but they are the air under our wings. We provide them shelter, and they hold us up. Strange, no?"

Anamra smiled in the night. "Somehow, I doubt you're just a quartermaster's mate who was in the right place at the right time. We're not out of the soup pot yet, and we need more manpower topside. You know people who could give us a hand?"

The mate smiled and nodded. "There's the inklings of a science club who owe me a favor. I can get them to you. After that, it is up to the Great Captain to turn them into a tank crew."

Anamra smiled. "Thanks."

The mate just laughed. "You're The Quartermaster, ma'am. It's what you do."

"Exactly."

Back at the Tankery sheds, a major problem was going on. As it turned out, the good folks over at Saunders had made a little itsy-bitsy mistake. The QM's mate in charge of the de-crating, Minato Shoribune, had just discovered what happened when something went wrong with the faux-American academy's inventory system got confused.

"This is not a Ram II" Shoribune said, looking at the inspection sticker on the tank sitting on the shed's floor. To an experienced observer, this was very true- especially as the fact the Ram II did not have an open-top turret, unmarred armor fascia, and a76mm M7 main gun. In fact, this was a M10 Wolverine- not the promised Ram II. Shoribune had the distinct feeling heads would start to roll. Fortunatly for her and the mates, they would not be heads at Ooari. A quartermaster who wanted to continue a brisk trade in commodity items did not like to bungle orders, and a fumble of this size might, might be enough to keep the Wolverine. It was time to do a little "research".

"Communications station, speaking."

"This is Stores, we got a bungled order. The Gray Lady ain't gonna be happy if she finds out, and the Quartermaster will flip a lid."

"Good lord…"

"Exactly. We need all the information you can get your hands on for the M10 Wolverine/Achilles ATSPG, a priority line to Saunders, a secondary line to St. Gloriana, an order halt on the machine shop, and a direct call to… Akiyama "Guderian" Yukari."

"Gotcha. On a scale of one to ten, how mad are your people?"

"If the Quartermaster doesn't try and break out the torpedoes, limpet mines, and MBTs, then the Gray Lady will. This is the Tankery program, and our brass have fallen in love with it."

"YOU SHOULD HAVE MENTIONED THAT SOONER!"

"Noted. Can we get all that in ten minutes?"

"We'll make it five."


	4. Snipe Hunt

Born of Iron

Tabac Iberez

Snipe Hunt

(A/N: So, I'm getting questions about the Gray Lady. That gets cleared up here. Coincidently, that's also as close as I am getting to mention warplanes in this fic- the Gray Lady is also one of the nicknames of the B-52 Stratofortress. Three guesses as to why I picked that name.)

Looking on at the rolling Charlie-Foxtrot sitting in her shed, Quartermaster growled incomprehensibly. This was bad. Very bad. The M10 was specifically disbarred from Tankery in the standard leagues unless it underwent a series of specific and drastic modifications. The problem was in the turret- specifically, the lack of roof. Due to the (low) chances of plunging fire, the standard roof kit wouldn't pass muster- it had trouble with bouncing rifle fire, let alone an all-too-likely 75+ millimeter shell. Not even the ungodly tough carbon spall liner could save a crew if that happened. The unlimited leagues had figured out a way to fix it, though. The first step involved completely tearing apart the tank's armor and welding a reinforced skeleton for the turret ring on. Next came souping up the turret motors while the superstructure was still off. The turret itself then had the detector layer of the competition spall armor attached, a modern reinforced steel plate attached, and then a double protective layer of the anti-spalling material attached under the painfully thin cheeks and rear. The roof received similar upgrades, making the M10's turret safer than the body of the tank for live fire. This turned out to be a very, very good thing as the Unlimited league's snipers loved the tank's broad turret cheeks and thin armor for sniping, often with massive cannons. It had taken a while after its implementation in the Unlimited leagues, but the standard leagues had accepted the modified turret legal, removing the ban on the American tank destroyer. Due to a miscommunication, the information about the M10's reinstatement was never made common knowledge, but the tank was officially on the books as a field able vehicle. Quartermaster knew all this, and had to exploit it.

"Ladies, this is bad. I'm declaring this an overtime project. Any mates of the First rating, you're now assigned to my staff until we fix this. Mates Second and Third rating, you're on alert. We've hit a negative supply-line wedgie, and it can safely be assumed we may need to do anything until this mess gets fixed. First ratings, see me in the sheds, Second and Third ratings dismissed."

Entering the Tankery sheds, Quartermaster gathered the ten First ratings into a loose huddle. "Alright guys, this is a bad one. Full overtime- you leave this shed for the bathroom, food, and your bunk, that's it. We need to track down an improved cannon for this thing, disassemble half of the hull, get the turret to the machine shops, soup this thing to the legal limits, and probably half another dozen things aside. Seeing as this is a full emergency overtime project, this gets top priority everywhere."

"Is the Gray Lady on board with this?" one of the mates asked nervously.

"She will be. This Tankery program saved us once, and it will have to again. The Gray Lady got us entered into the Oceana Limited tournament, and has already started the paperwork for the South American high school cup as the proxy entrant for some school in the sticks willing to play nice."

The mate nodded. It made sense- every honor, cup, and battle pennant Ooari earned put it a step further from the death knell of the breakers.

"Alright gang, assignment time." Quartermaster called, drawing the few lingering Second and Third ratings that had decided to linger.

"Minato Shoribune, Life Support. This is probably going to take two or three days. I'd like to have a set of knockout cots, a sandwich cooler, water, and coffee. If you know a couple of ratings who are good with plumbing or can borrow a pair of engineers to hook up a head, that would be a godsend. Showers would elevate you to sainthood. Operation Name: Saint."

"Tomena Rika, Communications Equipment. We need Internet, telephone, intercom, intership, and radio up here ASAP. Try and grab a communications rating and set us up a separate satellite uplink if you can. High speed computers and routers are a must for this job- we're going to be pulling in a lot of favors- I want to nail as many of our issues down after we clean this mess up. Operation Name: Hourglass."

"Nasane Aramato, Construction Liaison. Commandeer a damage control party, machinist group, and a dozen Third ratings and get that M10 operational. It might not be the tank we promised, but it goes vroom and boom. Use the workshop downstairs to kit your people out, and get them rolling as soon as possible. Operation Name: Wolverine."

"Kaline Toma, Archivist. Get your ratings together and get into the Quartermaster's Files. I am going to need to open lines of communication that might have been down for years to pull this job off. Don't try go overboard with this, though. Also, disregard anything to do with Pravada for now. They sometimes like to pull a "Dirty Ivan Surprise" if the Chief QM is feeling mischevious. Last time, we asked for "a car". They sent a Yugo. Operation Name: Thunderbolt."

"Unassigned First ratings, I want one of you to go to the departments and pair up with them. The two left over are going to be working with me."

Looking around at the assembled ratings and mates, Anamara decided it was time to be a little clear with them. She was blowing this all out of proportion, make no mistake. No matter how overblown she was making this, though, she had a reason. The Gray Lady, Valance Therese, was a member of the fire and lightning school of supply and demand. The last three girls in Anamara's shoes had gotten canned from their post and department after two weeks. Anamara was fairly sure she had figured out why. The last major student-run organizational change to the quartermaster corps was the ratings system- something that had been instituted thirty years ago by the last wishes of the previous Adult Quartermaster before she died of cancer. Back when Amara had first took up the job a scant twelve days ago, she had read over her Ops Manuals, the written operating system of every person who had ever held her post. The text itself was mundane, but hidden in the paratext of the first quartermasters after Valance's hire was a disturbing and marked decrease in efficiency on all fronts. From there, the hidden message went down a slippery slope of nepotism, corruption, and neglect until it hit the bottom, of which it scraped on. The most telling log was of the Quartermaster Chief (Anamara's full title) five before her- a honest attempt to initiate reforms, countered and slammed by the "Old Cadre" of senior quartermasters intent on keeping themselves in the lap of luxury and prestige. The last of the Old Cadre had graduated recently, and that was when the rain of fury from Valance Therese, the infamous Gray Lady had started. It had taken some cross-departmental digging to see how much work Valance had put in, and where.

It was soon after the Gray Lady's hiring that the situation had started to spiral down the drains. The old training cadre had graduated without a team of replacements ready, and without careful tending the seeds of the disaster had been planted. Eternal diligence on the student's behalf was steadily replaced with greed and sloth, cumulating in the Whisper Ring- a team that had stonewalled advances and stole the ship's funds with near impunity courtesy of viscous blackmail on the entirely of the adult staff. The records had held the information, in both the original and duplicates until Anamara had spent the majority of her third night on the job on the aft fantail with the logbooks, a knife, and a Zippo. It had taken the Gray Lady twenty years to recover from her earlier slips, and it had become obvious that the quartermaster corps needed to get organized, and fast. The earlier removals shared many traits with the last of the Old Cadre, presumably for their training by the group- trained in every way except on where to find the buried bodies of information.

"Quartermaster-san, could I talk to you for a minute?"

It was Toma, and she looked more than a little confused. Nodding absentmindedly, Quartermaster slid into her job mentality from what she had been remembering and got ready to be a professional. The Gray Lady had cut the cancer out from the body of the quartermaster corps- now it was Anamara's job to heal it.

"Yes, Thunderbolt-san?"

"Could we… ah… talk in private?"

"Of course."

Going down to one of the carefully manicured bushes on the edge of the parade ground, the pair stepped behind it. Sitting down, Quartermaster indicated with her hand that Toma should speak.

"Well, Quartermaster-san… I just wanted to say I think you're overdoing it for this. A lot."

Smiling, Quartermaster nodded. It was a key step to form a cadre of lieutenants who could be trusted. Toma, a first year with an incredible memory and the brains to apply it had figured out the charade and wasn't trying to profit. Combined with her skills as a First rating, she would make an excellent member for this new cadre. Perhaps someday, she could even lead it.

"You're right, Thunderbolt-san. You're very right."

This did not reassure Toma. She was familiar enough with the old "villain-reveals-plans-and-kills-hero" shtick to know that evil laughter should follow that type of comment. Said laughter did not come.

"Well, Thunderbolt-san, seeing as you've hit the nail on the head, let me ask something. Did you remember your first weeks, with the others as Chief Quartermaster?"

"Yes, Quartermaster-san. It was bad."

"Exactly. I'm trying to prevent that, and this is the first step."

"So how does declaring an emergency help with that?"

"Simple, Thunderbolt-san. It's an old dictator's trick from El Banana Republico- make a lot of noise, get everybody moving fast enough so they can't think straight, can your enemies and get everybody else to where they can do the most good without stabbing you in the back. After the dust settles, you have a relatively stable government until you shake it up again. I'm just doing it on a smaller scale, with much less harmful results for all involved."

Toma relaxed at the thought. A few doubts still lingered to be sure, but the worst were lain to rest.

"Ok, Quartermaster-san, I think I understand. Although, weren't dictators evil?"

"Thunderbolt-san, if I heard a yen for every time I heard something like that…"

Back in the shed, everyone was moving at a good clip to get their jobs done. Shoribune had conscripted most of the lower ratings and was getting everything loaded onto the cargo lift for transport to the shed. Most of the stuff was buried in a deep storage room in a far-off area of the ship. The dark cavern of supplies was not unlike that of a massive tomb, where many items had been lain to rest. An older Second rating led the way with both a headlamp and a flashlight illuminating his path. Behind him, a younger rating marked their path with chalk so they could find their way back. Muttering to himself, the Second rating finally led the team to the long-stored War Room. Seeing it, Shoribune let out a quiet whistle.

"Wow…" was the common sentiment, spoken by many of the ratings, including its leader.

The War Room, as decreed by its plaque, was the home of the Quartermaster Corps for the majority of the school ship Ooari Academy's history. Covered in cobwebs, the whole area was a testament to the past Quartermaster Corps' glory. Sparing no thought to the historical landmark, Shoribune walked over and hit the massive power switch. For a single moment, thousands of iridescent bulbs warmed up, monitors flickered to life, and the entire area came alive.

Then it died. The War Room's death knell was a series of pops and explosions, as every bulb, screen, and computer died in a shower of sparks. The lines of glistening monitors detonated, the arrays of bulbs burst, and the glimpse of life died a Valkyrie's funeral. Shoribune's reaction summed it all up perfectly.

"Welp. Alright, someone call the Quartermaster so she can add 'desecrated relic removal' to the list of things that need doing. Everyone else, buddy up, grab some chalk and a light, and start digging. I'll make some calls over to the Electric jockeys and see if we can get this place lit up from above. Remember, the reason we're grabbing from this back-end junk room is because all this is ours, and can't get commandeered. I'm sure you all know that feeling well enough."

A series of moans accompanied the last remark. One of the chief perks of being a quartermaster was the ability to get into petty stores and throw together a nook or cranny in your assigned storeroom. These items, being generic ship's property and almost never formally requisitioned but instead transferred, were free game for anyone who then requisitioned them themselves. They were then dug out of the nearest storeroom for the person with the form. This was an aggravating and common occurrence, as there were many, many item catalogues that held items that were common knowledge to the quartermasters but unknown to the average student. More than a few had cursed the dreaded Local Supply Catalog, which showed the exact items in their Stores- including the uncommon items that needed specialty catalogs. Knowing that this storeroom was their exclusive and eminent domain sped their work up considerably, as they assembled pallets to take to what had quickly become dubbed War Room Deux. Saint smiled at the sight, somehow knowing she was doing well.

In a hastily cleared hanger, Aramato watched her ratings haul the massive trolley holding the M10. The manuals for all the steps in the progress had been sent to the closest printer, and then retrieved by an eager Third rating. The stack was nearly a foot tall. Grimacing to herself, Aramato got her messengers running to find the necessary parties to begin construction and started reading the overview.

It was a half hour later when the damage control group and machinist group were located and brought back. Distributing the manuals, Aramato started explaining the procedure to the group leaders.

"Alright gals, here's the plan. This puppy needs to get striped down, buffed up, and rebuilt. Fast. First priority is legalizing the turret. As a direct side effect of you working on this project, by the way, you also are now all our first choice for any similar jobs in the future."

Both the machinists and damage control team leaders nodded. Tankery interest had bloomed at the school, and letting them play their part in getting the team together was an integral part of securing a reliable and specialized repair staff. Both were important, as restoring the tanks from their frequent beatings was no small job. Letting them rip at their manual sets, Aramato got to work on her own task of making sure her workshop had everything it needed to achieve success.

It was after three and a half hours of reading the processes that the newly assembled Tank Repair Team, as they had jokingly called themselves while crouched around bad manual copies, started to do the turret removal. It had been decided the damage control ladies would handle the disassembly and rebuilding- all being trained welders and fitters in case of issues with the ship- while the machinists would build and shape the many parts. As the task began, Aramato was shocked at the degree of things they had to do. The turret removal alone involved dozens of disconnections, as well as the storage modal's small crane. Of course, that's when a bigger problem came up.

"Aramato-san, we have a big problem here!" one of the damage control mates called out. Moving to the scene, Aramato took a look. The inside of the tank was a black maw, one that Aramato had absolutely no idea what was wrong with.

"So what's the problem?" Aramato asked, moderately cross. In response, the damage control mate pulled an obsidian necklace charm out of some pocket and snapped it on the interior of the hull. A rainbow of sparks flew off in a blaze of light, and the mate frowned.

"This tank doesn't have the carbon-based spall liner. If it did, then we wouldn't get sparks unless we were cutting through it. I would guess this tank never got the liner upgraded, or was never outfitted for Tankery in the first place. If you can get a couple of your ratings to dig out a manual on adding the liner, then we should be able to put one in."

Aramato was livid at the thought. Before transferring to the quartermaster corps, she had been striking for engineering and shipfiting until an accident had happened in the training ship's boiler room. A piston had been under overpressure by six times its safety rating. When it blew, the piston had thrown its head in a massive arc, slamming into a bulkhead. Aramato was on the other side of the bulkhead, and had been caught with shrapnel. When the head had hit the bulkhead, it had hit hard enough to shear off a line of rivets, the forces enough to spit them like bullets. Six of them had caught Aramato in various places, and she had changed divisions after leaving the infirmary. Spalling from when a tank was hit worked the exact same way, and had killed more tankers than shells. Tankery wouldn't exist as a sport without the carbon spall liner, and fielding a tank with improper lining was punishable as criminal negligence, and for good reason. Nine in ten of Tankery's few fatalities had occurred because of faulty spall liners, mostly in the early days of the sport when the technology was young and prone to failure.

Looking at the damage control mate, Aramato nodded idly. "I will. We're going to do this, and do it right. If that means striping all the plate off to install the liner, then I get the aecetaline and you get the torches." As the damage control mate nodded at her decision, Wolverine smiled fiercely. It was not far apart from her namesake's when it hunted difficult game.

Moving through the bowels of the ship, Rika led her small team of researchers to the semi-mythical "Quartermaster's Library", the storage place of millions of records relating to the ship. It was regarded as a myth because of the combination of its location and age. The Quartermaster's Library was one of the half-dozen rooms built in drydock, making it an anomaly in many ways. The largest was the path to get there; as proved by Rika's meandering path to get to a critical junction. While the upper levels of the ship had personal hallways that formed a relatively sane grid, the lower one got the more vital and non-modular compartments had to be dodged. This led to the snake's nest being traversed now, where only a single file could pass. Upon arrival, the band relaxed. The whole reason for the trip was stupidly simple and utterly devious. In a fit of paranoia, the ship-builders had installed a one-way automatic flow of information to the Quartermaster's Library. In essence, the Library was the ship's information black box on everything related to her supplies. Getting information out involved one of three things happening. First, the ship was sinking. This would result in a one-use pneumatic pipe blasting a database set out of the Library. The second was going down, copying the information to a floppy drive, and only a floppy drive, and going to the ship's one floppy drive reader in the Chief Quartermaster's office. The third, installed after the ship was built, was a manual secondary system that fed data along a secure line to the Chief Quartermaster's office, where it would then be transmitted as the Chief Quartermaster decided. The portion of Rika's team working under her second had already set up the relays to the War Room Duex and Quartermaster's office, connecting it all to an underpowered laptop for Quartermaster to use. The items of real importance were not the ancient requisition lists. Instead, they were the massive digitalized files of favors owed by quartermasters all over the world to each other. It was an unspoken law that the school ships stayed together, and that meant doing each other under-the-table favors. From transporting goods, hauling mail, and acquiring specialty items or harmless contraband, the school ships sought to keep each other afloat in small ways that might not have helped the budget by much, but drastically improved goodwill. Just as landbound schools had suffered from an array of issues, the school ships also had problems with preventing isolationist sentiments. The fact that a Saunders quartermaster could (and reputedly once had) traded a small sailboat to Anzio for six hundred kilos of pasta said volumes about the spirt there. In the logs of long-graduated quartermasters, there lay a history filled with data that could and would be exploited as soon as the archivists could tear into it.

After extracting themselves from the ship's belly, Rika's madcap team got to work on what they had planned on originally- getting the Archivists ready to roll. A pallet of batterproof laptops designed for field usage had been dug out of the ruins of War Room Un, and were getting installed as fast as possible. As soon as Saint's people got a folding table cart out, the work increased at the speed of sound. A power strip and cat5e had to be brought out, a modem emplaced, seven computers had to be booted, updated, and verified in. As much as Quartermaster trusted the Archivists, the Old Cadre had left a firm message burned into her mind- separate the power. Power corrupts, after all. After a table was set with its seven computers, the setup teams got to work on the next table. As this happened, other groups rolled out dozens of extension cables and extenders to keep the internet and power flowing. As the setup progressed, it quickly bloomed like a flower as tables popped up close to the power outlets the tank shed was provided with, then spread out around the extension cords. As the demands grew, Rika's people got deadly serious- rolling out heavy high-voltage cables and transformers. The cat5e lines spread, kept in neat bundles by gaff tape and will while the formation bloomed. Soon, two hundred computers were running like mad as the Archivists came in from other watches. As the sun reared its blinding light over the shed, the sight of Saint and Rico organizing the formation came into a dull, warm glow. Damage control teams would filter up occasionally, pitching in the setup. In the catwalks, groups of enterprising off-duty ratings strung a safety net that hadn't seen the light of day in years while their partners above them strung lengths of cable and hung the knock-out cots in the sky. As the frantic scamper continued, the Quartermasters shed finally became worthy of the name as the work teams filtered decades of information up the line so it could be processed. As dawn broke, Saint helped take Hourglass up to the knock-out cots. In the air, high above the deck, they both started to sleep a sound sleep as time ticked away.

Sitting on her desk, Quartermaster slugged down another cup of coffee and focused her eyes. The information coming through was surprisingly good. Ooari had not turned a cold front to the outside world when the Whisper Ring and Old Cadre had held sway. Across the board, it appeared they were in the black as far as favors went, both in the absolute value of the favors and in the minds of the other academies. It was now time to call some of them in. First was St. Gloriana, as they were close and might be able to provide a 17lbs gun to arm the M10 with. Getting up and stretching, she walked over to the improv telephone booth, sat on the stool, and dialed. Imidiantly after, a light went on and the conversation cut out like a rock. The phone connected through, and rang twice before being picked up. Moderately hesitant, Quartermaster got ready.

"St. Gloriana's communications department. How may we connect you?"

"Ah, hello there. Could you put me through to the chief quartermaster?"

"One minute while I scare up the connection. Who should I say is calling?"

"Chief Quartermaster Feraxii of Ooari Academy."

"Noted. One minute, please."

Quartermaster could honestly say it was one of the longest minutes she had ever had. Suddenly, the handset crackled to life.

"Hello there. Chief Quartermaster Grey speaking."

"Hello. This is Chief Quartermaster Feraxii speaking. Would you be interested in a brief discussion?"

"Ahh, Chief Feraxii. So we need to make a deal?"

Quartermaster was most decidedly not happy. If bargaining was a fencing match, she had just lost the first sally rather badly. Pre-deal conversation was a subtle way of checking your opponent out, and she had both discovered nothing and been discovered in brutally short order.

"Yes."

"Wonderful! Now, if you'll excuse me, I would like to take a moment to read your mind, and more importantly your wish list. I think you want… oh, say… one QQF 17lbs gun for that Achilles motor gun carriage you received from Saunders?"

This was going down the toilet at record speed. Biting her lip, Quartermaster got ready to chew a bullet. This deal was going to hurt.

"Yes. One QQF 17lbs gun, and two hundred shells."

"It would be bragging to say I knew it in advance. Thankfully for you, I do have a spare gun of that type. Unfortunately, it has a rather stiff price tag attached."

"Let me hear it."

"Thirty thousand yen cash, and two tons of black tea."

Yep. This was going to hurt.

"I do believe the second feature is a tad bit outrageous."

"We go through a lot of tea here, Chief Feraxii. Four cups per person per day on average."

"That makes the figure no less outrageous to acquire. We can get you half a ton of tea and the cash without a problem on the next liner"

"One and a half tons of tea, I could be persuaded to take. If you threw in a few containers of your community's famed sweet potato ice cream."

"One ton of tea is all we are equipped to transport, I am afraid. That said, I could probably get a few of my contacts to provide you with a respectable supply of sweet potato ice cream if you were to go within a few miles of Ooari."

"How many miles, Chief Feraxii?"

"No more than three."

"You know, I do believe we have ourselves a deal. Thank you for making my job much easier."

"Thank you our Tankery program has enough heavy weapons to stand a better chance in our upcoming tournaments. Would this be goodbye?"

"I believe so. Good bye and godspeed with the tea, Chief Feraxii."

"Goodbye, good luck, and godspeed, Chief Grey."

Hanging up the phone, Quartermaster stepped out of the office with a smile on her face. Moving over to her seconds, she grinned.

"Ladies, I need each of you to find me half a ton of tea apiece. First one done gets a day off and shore pass. Oma-san, you get the left side of the room. Tarou-san, the right. Hop to, please."

Stepping off the podium, Quartermaster felt light-headed all of a sudden. Walking out into the light of the parade ground, she stoped for a minute and relaxed. She had gotten an entire department moving. Now all she had to do was ride it until she and they were comfortable working together.

(A/N: Seeing as my last attempt at a nickname flopped, each character earns theirs when they finally find their place working with the QMC (Quarter Master Corps) and hit their stride. For those who wanted to see the job up close and personal, here it is. Sorry for any tracts on Applied Phlebotinum. Engineering is a hobby of mine between patching tents and splitting wood.)


	5. Second Pennant

Born of Iron

Tabac Iberez

Chapter 5: Second Pennant

Rolling in the flying cot, Quartermaster squinted with bleary eyes into the sun. The sun, which was coming in through the windows that had been facing west when she had gone to sleep. Thoroughly confused and annoyed, Quartermaster got out of the cot and fell over the edge straight into the safety netting three meters below. More than a few of the ratings below looked up as their boss started cussing a streak as blue as the Danube while she climbed out of the netting. Looking on, Thunderbolt chuckled as she continued delving through the digitalized archives. When Quartermaster got to the ground, she shot Thunderbolt a steal glare.

"Not. One. Word." Quartermaster muttered, rubbing her arm.

"Yes, Glorious Leader. You want a cup of coffee?" Thunderbolt replied, the tiny snark slipping out.

"I will transfer your sorry cheeks out to Pravada, and they will turn you into a snowman…" Quartermaster said, going for the carafe with laser precision. Pouring herself a glass without looking, she took a drink and promptly sprayed it out.

"WHAT IS THIS!?" Quartermaster cried, looking at the disgusting beverage where her coffee should be.

"I believe it's an exotic drink. Most of the ratings call it… water."

"Blaugh… kill it with fire and brimstone. I'm going to find the coffee and try and find Miho-san and Anzu-san. They need to hear about the M10 slipup. Which I need to still clear up…"

"I do believe you will be quite busy today, Quartermaster-dono." Thunderbird said, a hint of the sardonic tinging her humor.

"Shadup. Let me find my coffee and I'll see what I can do. Unless there was a shakeup over at Saunders, Alyss is still Chief QM. She owes me a big one after that snafu in Guam, and I think this is important enough to collect."

"Please, do tell…"

"Nope. This is a personal favor I'm calling in. Besides, I've seen Saunders paperwork. It'll be a hell of a lot easier for her to backdate a Lend-Lease form than do a 'we done fubar'd it' piece. As long as the timestamp isn't a complete failure, nobody will care."

"Must be weird over there."

"Anyone who wants to go anywhere in the Saunders hierarchy needs to have God's own gift for red tape and beurocracy. Remember, they style themselves as Americans in a lot of things, not just Tankery."

Grabbing her coffee, Quartermaster nodded at Thunderbird and waved a goodbye as she walked out of the tank-shed-turned-quartermaster-land. Noticing the open tank sheds that actually held tanks, she muffled a snort and wandered on by to take a look. Inside, the teams were all working on their tanks meticulously, tightening tracks and cleaning guns with grins on their faces. Wandering in, she looked around and smiled at the tanks. What had started as the literal scrapings of the barrel had been slowly turned into a mighty fighting force, capable of taking out opponents exponentially more powerful on paper in the field. Still, it was an awesome sight to walk by the girls that had saved their school once. Quartermaster only hoped they could do it again.

"Miho-sama… I have some bad news." Quartermaster said quietly to the Anglerfish team's energetic captain. Miho turned around, looking at Quartermaster with an odd look. Gesturing to the front of the tank sheds, Quartermaster led Miho there and started explaining.

"Listen, Miho-sama, things have gone a little pear-shaped on my end dealing with the other schools. Remember that massive crate last night?"

"Yes, Anamara-san. Although, you don't have to call me Miho-sama. Miho is plenty for me."

"After I get this whole deal cleaned up, Miho-sama. I let you down bad, though. What we got wasn't a Ram II. It was an M10 Motor Gun Carriage."

Miho took a second to think on the issue. Once the designation clicked, she gasped and grabbed Quartermaster's shoulders.

"I know that tank! It's illegal to field it!"

Shaking her head, Quartermaster replied.

"Not quite. It was banned forty years ago, but the unlimited leagues figured out how to take care of the issues and the standard leagues made the safe version legal five years back. They didn't tell anyone because it would cause a major balance upset."

"Why?"

"An M10 is normally the Wolverine type. That said, though, it can be modified to mount a QQF 17lbs gun. The same gun a Firefly would use. That's its Achilles variant. It's a relatively cheap chassis, but with that kind of firepower in it, it can overwhelm heavy tanks with a smart gunner and good camouflage. Think of Saunders ambush tactics with that potent of a sniper- one hiding in every bush and copse of woods. A Firefly would work as well, but the M10 has the advantage of having literal hundreds of unused box kits lying around. Up-gunning an M10 is a walk in the park compared to doing the same on a M4. "

"Will Saunders want it back? They have one 17lbs gun- they might have more, and an easy conversion would give them a lot of firepower."

"No. I'm on good personal terms with their Chief Quartermaster and her secretary, so it is ours as long as we take care of it and she doesn't find a copy of the memo about it becoming legal."

"You're sure? This almost feels like we're stealing."

"Miho-sama, welcome to the _Daes D'mar_ of the Quartermasters. Half the reason we are so deep in Saunder's good books is because it was one of our old quartermasters who took Rabbit Team's M3 off their hands in exchange for a pair of hydrostatic transmissions, a large still, and a Te-Ke that had been dug out of Guadalcanal by our Archeology Club. By anyone's standards, that was daylight robbery. They owe us one, especially considering the fact we still have the title dead for that tank somewhere."

"Oh."

"That's just another day in the life for me. I'm going to make sure the M10 is free and clear, and after that it's all yours. If you want it, that is."

"Quartermaster-san… We did good, very good, with what we have. I can't shake the feeling we're going to need something to give us an edge later, though. We had so many close calls, in that last battle."

"Miho-sama… I promise to do my best. You have my word."

Going back into War Room Duex, Quartermaster refiled her mug cheerily and sat down at her work station to see what was happening. On her work computer, a message light from the intraship e-mail was flashing. Opening it, Quartermaster's mouth dropped like a stone.

TO: CHIEF QUARTERMASTER (FERAXII ANAMARA); STUDENT COUNCIL PRESEDENT (KADOTANI ANZU)

FROM: STORES OVERWATCH OFFICER (VALANCE THERESE)

SUBJECT: SECONDARY HONORS/ SOUTH AMERICA

QUARTERMASTER FERAXII, CONGRADULATIONS ON WORK IN OBTAINING M10 MOTOR GUN CARRIGE. RAM II EXPECTED TO ARIVE IN T-10 WEEKS DUE TO SCHEDUALING CONFLICTS WITH SAUNDERS. M10 MOTOR GUN CARRIGE USEAGE SECURED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. STOP.

DUE TO REQUIRMENTS IN PREVENTING SCHOOL SHUTDOWN, IT HAS BEEN DETERMINED THAT OOARI MUST COMPETE AND WIN OR MEDAL IN MORE TOURNAMENTS AND COMPETITIONS. AS A MEANS TO THAT END, AN ARANGEMENT HAS BEEN MADE WITH MOTHER MARIA WOMENS VOCATIONARY COLLAGE IN SANTIAGO, CHILLE. UNDER THE TERMS OF THE AGREEMENT, OOARI GIRLS ACADEMY WILL COMPETE IN THE GRAND SOUTH AMERICAN TANKERY TOURNAMENT, STANDARD DIVISION IN PLACE OF MARIA WOMENS VOCATIONARY COLLAGE. DUE TO DIFFERING SAFTEY PROTOCALS, THE CARBONIZED SPALL LINER WILL NOT BE INSTALLED BY SOUTH AMERICAN JUDGES, BUT BY OOARI SCHOOL. TO THAT END, MATERIALS AND INSTRUCTIONS WILL BE AQUIRED. JUDGES AT SOUTH AMERICA WILL PROOF SPALL LINERS AND ARMOR. STOP

SCHEDUAL OF TOURNAMENT

WEEK 1: AQUIRE SANTIAGO BERTHING/VISIT WITH MOTHER MARIA WOMENS VOCATIONAL COLLAGE. BEGIN TANKERY CAMP

WEEK 2: TOURNAMENT STAGE ONE

WEEK 3: TOURNAMENT STAGE TWO

WEEK 4: TOURNAMENT STAGE THREE

WEEK 5: RETURN TO OOARI GIRLS ACADEMY/MOTHER MARIA WOMENS VOCATIONAL COLLAGE

WEEK 6: DEPART

THERE WILL BE NO PENALTIES TO THE CIRICULAR ACTIVITIES IF PROVIDED MANDATORY MATERIALS ARE STUDIED AND COMPLETED. LOGISTICS TRAIN PROVIDED BY SOUTH AMERICAN TANKERY LEAUGE. INFORM TANKERY COMANDER AND STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENT ASAP. STOP

STORES OVERWATCH OFFICER (VALANCE THERESE)

P.S. SORRY FOR DROPPING THE BALL ON YOUR WATCH. MEET ME AT OLD SALT CANTINA ROOM AT DOGWATCH TO DISCUS OPERATIONS LATER. WISH YOU LUCK. STOP.

It took nearly a full minute for the effects to sink in on Quartermaster. When it did, though, she calmly saved the message, printed a copy off the communal printer and grabbed it, sat back in her chair, and fainted away.

"Quartermaster-dono? You there, buddy?"

Looking up from her chair, Quartermaster looked at Wolverine and blinked a few times.

"Quartermaster-dono, you're scaring Saint. I got you some espresso, so wake up and smell the black gold."

Blinking a few more times, Quartermaster grabbed the proffered drink and knocked it back in one shot. Sitting up, she stood and grabbed the printout in one hand.

"Ugh. Wolverine, can you get me a few more of those with a status report on the M10?"

Chuckling, Wolverine pulled a thermos out from behind her back and tossed it to Quartermaster.

"There's the espresso, and here's my report. We've got the M10 stripped to the bones and have already dry-fitted most of the assorted components. The carbon spall liner base is standing by, and I have a second rating I trust getting everything ready. Tank Repair has all the legal upgrades and safety precautions on standby for installation. Also, I'm going to need to pass the cap soon and get some sleep."

"Report received, Wolverine. Good news for you, by the way- we're keeping the M10 until further notice, and have a 17lbs gun coming in from St. Gloriana. Now get some shuteye- not all of us need to maintain bass-ackward sleep cycles like me."

"Alright, Quartermaster-dono. Rack time or net time?"

"Either or. Just take your eight hours of sleep and wake up ready to go."

"Gotcha. See you next shift."

Watching Wolverine amble away, Quartermaster rubbed her head and checked her various e-mails again. Taking a minute to forward the declaration of tournament to Anzu and Miho, she frowned slightly. Most if the top-deck academy students didn't even know how to use the Intership e-mail. This was going to be a message that was delivered in person. Running off another pair of the sheet, Quartermaster readied herself to grab a tiger by it's tail. Booting her computer up, she snarled out to get her patched to the Ethernet and running the Web as soon as possible. Every scrap of knowledge was vital now.

It was after the day's Tankery practice was over that Quartermaster got a good chance to talk to Miho and Anzu. Asking them both to come to a free table in the QM shed, Quartermaster got the table a small pot of tea and some cups. This was going to be an interesting conversation in many ways.

"Alright ladies, I'm going to try and keep this brief. We just got entered into a big tournament." Anamara began, feeling a touch of her Quartermaster persona slide away.

"What kind of tournament?" asked Anzu, instantly suspicious.

"A big one." Quartermaster replied, stealing her nerves as she sipped her tea. Anzu had to be convinced- she could hamstring this in one blow.

"Alright, then. You wanted to be brief, so lay it on us, Quartermaster-san."

Miho's silence was unnerving as Anzu and Quartermaster gently sparred words. All were masters of their domain, but it was a fragile thing holding the set together.

"You asked for it, Anzu-san. We have been given the opportunity to participate in the Grand South American Tankery Tournament in the standard league. It's utterly massive- from what information we have acquired so far, it involves sixty-four entrant schools, set in a double elimination system over a period of six weeks. During this time, secondary Tankery events also occur, including challenge matches, tankist duels, round robins, and set-piece battles. We're only obligated to compete in the main tourney, but everything else is a chance to earn our stripes. Of particular note is the Queen's Coronet- a massive tankery round robin where the victorious team stays in the field until they either expend all their ammo or defeat every other team consecutively. It's as good as second place in the tournament, and something we can add to our banner without looking like we're getting desperate. During the entire tournament, a semi-permanent festival is running around the camp."

"We've got ourselves a first-rate opportunity. Most of the South American schools don't have the raw firepower that Saunders and Black Forrest Peak do, and the match format has a vehicle cap so that the side with numerical superiority can only have five more than the smaller team. We should be on par or better with the majority of the opposing teams. Consequently, we should expect a lot more tactical thinking out of the opponents, but that falls under your job description. My division has spare manpower right now, so we'll try and get you any information you need."

Anzu and Miho both thought on the issue. This could be a massive opportunity, or a source of great shame. Miho broke the silence first, almost thinking out loud.

"We would be going into a different league blind and deaf. I think, though, that we stand a good chance if we can get more knowledge on our opponent. Quartermaster-san, you said you could get us more information. Would the M10 be part of that?"

Responding, Quartermaster smiled. "Unless Saunders decides they need it for target practice, yes. Valance-san secured it's useage for us. I don't know how, but I do know she'll probably tell me later."

The worry slowly drained out of Miho's face. "Then I am in favor of it. Now all we need is the upgraded armament and a crew for the M10. Does that particular model have any nicknames?"

Quartermaster took a sip of her tea and responded. "English forces dubbed it the Wolverine, whereas the model with the 17lbs gun was called the Achilles. Any reason for asking?"

Miho smiled herself, now. "No, no reason. Although, where can we get a crew for it?"

Coughing lightly, Saint made herself known. Setting a fresh pot of tea down, she responded to Miho's question.

"If I may interrupt, we had a group of students who had issues forming a chemistry club request to meet with the head of the Tankery squadron earlier, Nizushimi-sama, Quartermaster-san, Kadatoni-sama. It would be a reasonable inference they were interested in joining."

Nodding gently, Quartermaster looked up.

"Thanks, Saint. Could you tell Wolverine that the M10 is cleared for proofing and assembly?"

Saint nodded to Quartermaster, and walked off into the maelstrom of War Room Duex.

Anzu's had only a single raised eyebrow at the exchange. Speaking quietly, she looked at Quartermaster suspiciously.

"I don't remember any paperwork on a chemistry club. Was Saint-san perhaps mistaken?"

Quartermaster frowned slightly.

"I highly doubt it. For all we know, it was internal problems. Hopefully it will let us crew the M10 and round out the Chi-Nu. They still needed a dedicated loader, didn't they?"

Miho nodded, smoothing away to quiet contemplation

"If you could send the chemists to me later, I'll try and do my best. Until then, I believe we are done for now."

"Go ahead, Nizushimi-chan. I'll be a minute, though. Quartermaster-san and I need to talk."

Surprised at Anzu's words, Miho left with a parting wave. Pulling out her thermos of espresso, Quartermaster sighed a little. Time to play hardball.

"Alright, Quartermaster-san, why didn't I hear about this sooner?" Anzu asked, the point falling heavy in her words.

"Anzu-san, it's fairly simple. You heard about it as soon as I could tell you. The only other way you could have learned sooner is if you were active on the intraship internet."

"Intraship internet? I've never heard of it."

Taking a sip, Quartermaster cradled her head in her hands.

"You were sent the message on intraship internet. I am going to guess you don't have it available. Intraship internet is a mini-internet for all of Ooari, and is how most of the belowdecks folks communicate. The Gray Lady must have forgotten you were an above-deck student."

"The Gray Lady?"

"Valance Therese. The Gray Lady to anyone in the quartermaster corps. Never, ever, ever get in her way."

"Noted. What would take to get me intraship internet?"

"Two hours with Saint's people at your house and office."

Thinking, Quartermaster realized something.

"You never assented to the South American tournament, Anzu-san."

Anzu grinned quietly.

"No, I didn't. If we can get everything ready, then I will."

Quartermaster finally let herself smile again.

"Alright then. I get Miho the tanks and tankers, Miho brings us the victories, and you bring us the school. I think that's a good deal. Care to shake on it?"

Proffering her hand, Quartermaster waited until Anzu shook her hand. Watching Anzu grin like a small, cute shark, she chuckled.

"I have the feeling this is going to work. Now, time to move forward."

((A/N: I kinda hate saying this, but the reviews are getting depressing. Seriously, I don't care what you write as long as there is one thing I did well in the list.))


	6. Moonbeam Rising

Born of Iron 6

Tabac Iberez

Looking out over the waves breaking on Ooari's bow, Quartermaster sighed quietly and gazed into the night. A picture held in her right hand and a flask in her left, she felt the sun sink away behind her as the ship sailed east, back to what had been one of her many homes. It wasn't a happy realization when Quartermaster realized where she would be going, but it was a necessity. It was late September in the photograph, with the apple blossoms wafting on the breeze. Somewhere in that captured memory, three young girls were laughing at a joke, with a boy hanging from a branch smiling. It was a happy memory. If she told herself that enough times, it might even be true. Sighing, Quartermaster finished off the flask's contents and started walking back to the War Room Duex. Feraxii Anamara had some work to do before her return, if she wanted to leave again.

Entering into the War Room Duex, Quartermaster looked around and grinned savagely. The past was the past- she could give those ghosts their due diligence later. Right now, a storm was coming.

"Ladies! I need command staff to me in five minutes! We're going fishing, and I'm not looking for snapcaps here! First priority is information on all the teams participating in the South American tankery tournament! Petty stores and personal rooms are open, check your trails, and don't double-purchase. Second, we need to get a few upgrades. Anyone who's good at rules lawyering, gather at table ten and start hunting for loopholes. Nitro chargers, smoke machines, landmines, hillbilly armor, field repairs… if it's legal, we need it found! Third, I want to get inventory on our tanks and cross-check them with whatever we find as a viable upgrade. The M3 Lee should have at least one thing we can fix, and there might be a legal upgrade or two we can squeeze into the B1."

Moving up to what was rapidly becoming her second office, Quartermaster sat down with a thunk and started rubbing her head. This was going to be a lot harder than it looked. Man did not live on bread alone, and extended tournaments like this did not supply themselves. Information was a precious commodity right now, and every little bit was revealing how deep a hole the Administration had thrown them into. One particularly damning line read as such:

"The South American Tankery Association will provide standard fuels, shells, and rations to any and all participating schools. Additional items may be purchased from the PX."

A little extrapolating later, Quartermaster interpreted the same piece of information of such:

"The South American Tankery Association will provide knockoff HE shells, 80-year-old petrol, and American K-rations and MREs from the Korean war. Shelter, replacement parts, edible food, water, and repair services are not provided, and may be purchased at 600% markup from our official subsidiary."

It was common knowledge to quartermasters that if you planned for the worst, things ended up ok. Conversely, if you let somebody else's organization do it, then you were pretty much boned. What you considered a necessity was often their idea of a luxury, and vice versa. In this case, it was time to start making the backup plan. Willing to bet on Thunderbolt having everything well in hand below, Quartermaster looked around for a first rating that was unassigned. Finding one, she grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, and dragged her to an unoccupied table. Looking her in the eye, Quartermaster started grilling her.

"Alright, name, rank, and station, buddy."

The girl blinked rapidly and darted her eyes around. Finally, she asked Quartermaster, "Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Ahm… I'm Samato Miana, first rate."

Quartermaster let out an evil smile. Logistics was a stress-producing job, and one of its small joys was delegating some of the stress down the line. The buck didn't stop at the top- it just got cleaned, packaged, and sent on back down the line.

"Well, then. Today is your lucky day, because I have a job for you."

Miana gulped, and nodded. Logistics was a stress-producing job, and one of its frequent detractions was that people over you would drop a job in your lap. All the credit would float to the top, and all the crap would come back down to bite you in the ass.

"Alright, Quartermaster-sama. What is it, exactly, you need me to do?"

"It's very simple, Samato-san. We need some… unusual things for the tournament. I need you to start looking for them."

"Unusual things? What sort of unusual things?"

"First up will be basic camping supplies. Then comes spares, ammunition, and fuel. Last is food. This tournament is going to be one giant mass of confusion until we get there, and I want to be prepared for anything and everything. I've been to South America before, and we're used to a different standard in a few things. I personally doubt that our gals will like sleeping in their tanks, for instance. That said, though, send me your lists before you do anything."

Miana nodded in comprehension as Quartermaster's explanation sank in. One good reason generally offset a host of bad ones. The fact it was being under overwatch just made it better. Tossing a hasty salute, Miana left to get to work.

Getting up to her second office, Quartermaster closed the makeshift curtain that had sprung up a few hours ago and sat down. She hadn't been lying when she had said she had been to South America before. It was a nice place, as long as you knew what you were getting into. Quartermaster doubted that _anyone_ in this did, though. Not even herself. Muttering to herself, she slipped on her headset and booted up the technically banned privacy software she had uploaded on this rig. There were some things that authority was not meant to know. What she was about to do definitely qualified, as much as anything her crooked predecessors had done.

_I guess that old saying is true- we do repeat the mistakes of the past we didn't make ourselves. The only question is, can I trick myself into thinking this is the right move? _

Quartermaster thought, typing in the site she was looking for. In America, some bright sparks had developed an enhanced airsoft system to use cylinder rounds. Several years later, a cleaver policeman figured out how to make each cylinder round a self-contained Taser. It never really took off, but the equipment was still produced. Quartermaster was ordering a set of forty pistols built to use those same Taser rounds. A Mauser C96 copy was her eventual choice, with the propellant tank built into the handle, chambered for 11mm Taser shot. It would be paid for out of the old Whisper Ring's slush fund, left unsecured after the Gray Lady beheaded the organization. Quartermaster's plan was to issue them to the handpicked members of her staff. The fact she was even doing this nibbled at her stomach, but her justifications were sound enough. For now.

_Face it, Anamara_, she thought to herself, _you're overstepping your bounds. This is overkill- do you really think that your people are going to get mugged in an ally somewhere? Do you think that it won't be noticed-_

_Oh shut up. This is a moot point. You remember what happened to Thera, don't you? There are parts of the world we do not want to visit without live rounds for the tanks, and this tournament is going to get all too close. You know there's a reason we're not going ashore in Santiago, you know there's a reason we're not going to go within a hundred miles of São Paulo, and you know why Venezuela is one big-ass no-go zone. Face it now, girl- you have enemies, and you're worried that Ooari is going to collect some too. You know how easy it would be to make a mistake- one miscalibrated shell, and "BAM!" goes a tank in a fireball. One of ours, filled with __our__ people. Worse, __we __shoot that bad shell, get disqualified, and get nailed to the wall back home. Complicity in murder always was the cop's favorite charge for you. First degree, second degree, homicide, suicide, patricide, fratricide, they don't care…_

Shaking her head violently, Quartermaster finished placing the order and placed the black thoughts and memories back where they belonged. Just because you were paranoid didn't exclude the possibility that those gift cigars were laced with explosives. If everything went according to plan, the pieces would never leave their crates. If all went according to plan.

Dozing fitfully in her chair after her fateful purchase, Quartermaster rocketed awake as her telephone rang. Scrambling madly in panic fearing her discovery, she yanked the phone up and responded.

"Chief Quartermaster Feraxii speaking! Who is this?"

The reply had the cool overtones of a professional, with a flare of boredom flavoring the words.

"Chief Quartermaster, there is an incoming call from St. Gloriana academy, from their Chief Quartermaster Gray. Also, this is Communications. Do you not have caller ID in your office?"

"No, this is an extension. Feel free to patch Chief Quartermaster Grey to this line."

"One moment please"

It took about a minute for the call to connect, in defiance of two communications desks and their operators.

"Hello, Chief Feraxii." Grey said, voice sickly smooth.

"Hello, Chief Grey. Did you have an issue with the payment delivery?"

"No, no, there wasn't an issue with delivery. Certainly more professional than most of our shore crews!"

"Then, if I may ask, why are you calling?"

"Ah, see, there is an issue, but not with your people. Rather, I have just received some interesting news."

Dread started to form a hard lump in Quartermaster's core. Grey was beating around the bush in every way she possibly could while maintaining the façade of British polite formality, and both of them knew it. Grey was stalling for time. The question was, for what?

"Interesting news, Chief Grey? Do tell, if you could." Quartermaster disguised her emotion under a twittering shell. Even in the midst of important conversations, there were still power games to be played.

"Yes, quite. Recently, our Acquisitions teams acquired an A43, commonly known as the Black Prince. Unfortunately, it had undergone heavy use by its previous owners, leaving the main gun effectively scrap. In lieu of the QQF 77mm that is was originally equipped with, we only had one tournament-legal replacement piece…"

The stone of dread turned into a diamond of fear. The Black Prince was built to handle two guns. One was the 77mm. The other was the 17lbs.

"…So of course, we had to mount the QQF 17lbs gun instead, and I know that hurts you badly. That said, though, I can personally guarantee that the piece is yours as soon as transfer is feasible."

The M10 had a passable stock gun, but the 17lbs gun was going to be their hat trick in case of heavy armor. Quartermaster had sold Miho and Anzu on the upgraded Achiles variant of the M10- not the bog-standard Wolverine. There would be repercussions. Chief Grey carried on, rambling through the conversation as if Quartermaster was not there.

"How soon?" was all Quartermaster could reply with.

"Eight weeks, minimum. We're going to be doing a 'best of' regional competition with a few fine fellows in Indonesia. Four schools, twelve matches total."

Quartermaster was sweating bullets. This was the only string to her bow, and it had snapped. A burst of static was heard, and Grey sounded apologetic.

"Listen, we're going into a bit of a squall now, so I need to go. I hope we can meet in person sometime soon. Goodbye!"

A short pause followed. The voice of the communications officer told Quartermaster that the call had been interrupted and disconnected, but she didn't remember her response. It didn't matter anyway- Quartermaster had hit bottom, and no amount of stimulants could keep her at her post. She was going to crash- she just wanted to do it in her own, honest to god bed.

Staring at their commanding officer in blatant shock, Thunderbolt and Saint looked at each other, and back to the figure stumbling her way down to the lifts. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"What on earth happened?" Saint asked, getting into her full gossip mode. This was big.

"I have no clue. The closest she's looked to that was back when she first got the job and had to read all the Whisper Ring's logbooks." Thunderbolt said, scratching her chin. "We'll just have to keep an eye on the intraship and get ready to rumble."

At that moment, Thunderbolt could have traded her quartermaster's smock for a prophet's hat and not have noticed a difference. Blinking up on the intraship e-mail icon, a letter had arrived for all of Quartermaster's lieutenants. It read informally, but it was still poignant.

SECTION CHEIFS WOLVERINE, SAINT, THUNDERBOLT, HOURGLASS.

DUE TO ISSUES WITH ST. GLORIANA AND INTERFERING TOURNAMENT SCHEDUALS, THE QQF 17LBS GUN WILL NOT BE DELIVERED. MAKE M10 MOTOR GUN CARRIGE READY FOR BATTLE ASAP. MY APOLIGIES. STOP

FERAXII ANAMARA.

Both Saint and Thunderbolt looked at each other, and swore simultaneously.

"Fuck."

In the work bay, Wolverine grimaced as she peeled out of the sticky black coveralls she had been wearing. Applying the carbonic spall liner for their work in South America was not going quickly, cleanly, or smoothly. Between half a HAZMAT suit because of the chemicals involved, needing to mix the resins just so, and fifty-odd year equipment did not help the issue. Tossing the coveralls in a growing pile of their like, Wolverine stepped into the communal decon shower and started rinsing off the assorted sweat and gunk off her body. The underdeck tank bay was no small theatre for her efforts, allowing her to set up a respectable living area aside the ongoing project that was disassembling and reassembling the M10. Between the extensive network of cranes that kept the assorted parts of the welded hull airborne for the coating to be added, power cables for the welding and machining equipment, and other spare equipment, the tank construction site was filling with detritus faster than an old forest. Finishing in the shower, Wolverine pulled on a bathrobe and was about to pour herself a cup of Quartermaster's special coffee she had "requisitioned" a few months ago, when her telephone rang. Muttering about the antiquated equipment and how Saint needed to remember her job was starting to spill over out of War Room Duex, Wolverine picked up the phone and answered.

"Tank Shop 1, Wolverine speaking."

"Wolverine, it's Thunderbolt. We have a problem."

"Heya, Thunderbolt. Lay it on me."

Thunderbolt relayed the message to Wolverine in under a minute. Wolverine had exactly the same response as Thunderbolt and Saint did.

"Well, fuck. This is bad. Listen, I'm too short on staff to go on double shifts right now, and we're still laying on the primer. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Get more shipfiters or something?"

"No can do. I'm using them for disassembly and reassembly- the actual coating is being done by my ratings. Before you ask, don't send me yours- the equipment is a bear to learn how to use."

"What can we do for you, then?"

"Find some decent painter's masks, and get us a few hundred disposable coveralls- that's the big thing right now. After that, get Saint down here to help turn our rec room into some decent living quarters like the ones in the War Room Duex. If there's any spare time, also try and round up the new crew and get them practicing in the M3 or something- anything to make sure they're not total newcomers when they get to the M10. It would be better training for the Ram II, but we're not getting it anytime soon."

"Alright, we got it all written down. I'll be on it soon."

"Good. Wish you guys luck with Quartermaster- she tends to get really black moods around this time of year, and there's jack you can do about 'em. I was her roommate back when we were second ratings."

"Really?"

"Yep. Which reminds me- keep an eye on her. Something might be up."

"Alright, Wolverine. You want to get together with everyone and go to the bathhouse sometime tonight just so we can all relax?"

"After the week I've had? Yes, yes, and yes. Listen, I gotta go and talk to my crane person soon. Talk to you later, Thunderbird?"

"Sure thing, Wolverine. See you soon."

"See ya, Thunderbird."


	7. Sleepless Knights

Born of Iron 7

Tabac Iberez

(Second-to-last chapter before we reach Santiago. Promise.)

Tying her hair back in a thick braid, Wolverine walked into the bathhouse and started heading for the communal pool. It had been a stressful week, and it was time to relax in a pool of warm water with some good company. Stripping in the no-nonsense manner of someone all too used to decontamination showers, Wolverine threw her clothes in a locker and got into the bathhouse proper. Staking out a corner, she waited for the others to show up. The first one to show was Saint, and Wolverine had to stop herself from staring. Wolverine had never been one to notice much outside her job, and this included personal appearances. Now that there wasn't much else to focus on, her eyes were almost glued to Saint's supple form. Dragging her gaze to eye level, Wolverine gave a gentle wave to indicate where she was and waited for Saint to come over. It was difficult to wait- there was something in Saint's Venusian form that sang to Wolverine, trying to drag her from her spot. Holding fast, Wolverine sank lower and noticed that Thunderbolt had slipped in. Where Saint was lush and tempting, Thunderbolt was plain by comparison- but somehow, no less beautiful. As Thunderbolt slipped into the water and silently slid to Saint and Wolverine, Wolverine noticed the flicker of a pattern on Thunderbolt's neck. As she stood to face the pair, Wolverine got a good look at it- it being a faint tattoo in silver that sparkled as the water slid across its surface. Almost unnoticed in her entry was Hourglass, tying her hair back in a ratty bun and entering the water with a splash. As all four started to relax in Wolverine's quarter of the bathing pool, Saint smiled and voiced a thought.

"Isn't it so nice to have a chance to just relax and not worry about work?"

"Heavens, yes…" murmured Hourglass, whom had nearly disappeared into the water entirely.

"I personally like finally getting clean for once," Wolverine said, chuckling a little. "I take a dozen decon showers most days, and all they do is get the old talcum powder off."

"Talcum powder?" Thunderbolt asked, looking askance.

"Talcum powder. The more we wear under our spraying suits, the more breaks we need to take. The talcum powder keeps everything from rubbing us wrong."

"Is spraying parts bad?" Saint asked, a look settling onto her face.

"It's sort of like spraying paint, only there's dozens more steps. The primer alone was six coats of junk, and we had to time it just right, or we need to wash it all off and start over."

The other three's universal response was a well-seasoned "blech…" Dirty jobs had all been part of their lives as Third ratings, but none of them wanted to go back to those days.

"At least you know where the problems are." Hourglass muttered, pulling herself into a sitting position. "Trying to keep War Room Duex functional is three kinds of nightmare."

Wolverine arched an eyebrow at the group's wiregirl. "Do tell."

"It's a bloody nightmare. We're running six different voltages for War Room Duex, cat5e, and intraship lines in there." Hourglass said, watching Wolverine. Thunderbird interjected mildly onto what was brewing, diffusing any tension.

"I thought Intraship would run on cat5e."

Hourglass smiled thinly. "It does. The catch is, it can't share lines with anything. I'm using the old lines for it because we have it spare and it keeps cross-connections to a minimum."

Saint chuckled at the remarks, grinning. "I never understood how you guys use the thing. It's barely a step above a telegraph!"

Hourglass responded wryly, "The intraship was in the ship when they laid down the keel, and the tech was ancient even then. The good thing about it is that it's essentially virus-proof, and indestructible aside from that. The bad thing is, you're about right on the telegraph description. One line of text, and you can't go back without deleting everything. I'm just glad some bright spark modded it to show line spacing and lists."

Thunderbird whistled. "That's bad, but at least you're out of the War Room Duex most of the day. Only things I see are my desk, my computer, and my telephone."

Saint nodded in sympathy. "I got the place as good as I can, but we still don't have locations in the Grand Hold for half the stuff in inventory. Right now I'm just putting a bounty on some things to get the non-Tankery QMs to hunt 'em down in their free time."

Wolverine snorted bubbles as she slipped lower in the water, jerking up as she realized the warm water was putting her to sleep. Shaking her head slightly, she looked at Saint inquisitively.

"So, if you're done with War Room Duex, mind doing my gals a favor?" Wolverine asked.

"Let me guess- you want the Tank Shop's rec room turned into something decent?" Saint said with a tinge of sarcasm.

"Nothing fancy, but yeah. Right now most of our furniture is renovated two hundred liter barrels."

Saint winced. Wolverine continued, grinning slightly at what was slowly becoming a décor nut.

"I mean, the armchairs are nice, and I just love what the welders did to make the work tables, but the-"

"Alright! I'll get you some honest furniture!"

"But what about our one-of-a-kind telephone booth-"

"I'll make you something!"

"-Or our storage cubbies-"

"Have six hundred, all yours!"

"-Decon showers-"

"Standard issue, ninety in Minnie's bay!

"-Or the pool table-"

"Eight left from the Whisper Ring!"

"-Picture frame-"

"Dozens!"

"-Keys to the drop zone-"

"Five sets!"

"-Shiny new Australia-"

"Special order! Just stop!"

By this point Thunderbird and Hourglass were clutching their sides laughing. Saint had developed a passion for her job, and Wolverine had pulled it out of her with an anecdote and a smile. Saint slowly flushed red as she realized what she'd said, and sank down low in the bath. Wolverine just chuckled, and patted her on the back.

"Somebody seems to have been taking her job a little too seriously. We all know the rule about that…"

Sighing, all four of them rattled off the oft-engrained piece of advice:

"If someone could get hurt or die, keep two wary eyes. If all can wait and stay well, don't try and move hell."

It seemed unusual, but this little cachesim was why school ships had proven in hundreds of studies to produce people with better mental health than any (now defunct) shore based school. By giving the vast majority of the student population a sense of scale on stress and responsibility, the kids could relax better and not panic over minute grade flux or other small things.

Chuckling at the out-of-context application for their biggest guiding rule, the girls relaxed a notch, and let the conversation move around as they soaked in the warm pool.

Quartermaster was not a happy person.

_The one, singular, MAJOR issue with school ships_, she thought with malice, is _that none of those Sierra-Oscar-Betas will take fake ID…_

Quartermaster was not a happy person right now for one simple reason- she needed a drink or three. While the general public might not be willing to serve her anything worse than lemonade tonight, she did have a secret emergency stash of… things, just in case.

_Bless my intelligent predecessors for giving the boss a stocked bolthole…_

That was as far as Quartermaster got before she reached the cache, and saw what was duct-taped to the door. It was a note

_Quartermaster_

_ You've had a bad week. If you came to talk to me in person, I could help. If you came to this little nook with the intention of getting utterly wasted, go right ahead- I have the letter of dismissal for you drafted and waiting for my signature on my desk. I'm trying to fix my mistakes here, and you're part of that. You're what we need to go from acceptable to commendable- but only if you're strong enough. Lieutenants can help, but it's lonely at the top. Hold it together until we finish with South America, Anamra. Right now, we must all stand together, or Ooari will fall. _

_ So here is your choice. Walk away and stand, or enter and fall_

Walking back to her storeroom after her night in the baths, Saint smiled softly. She had managed to get Wolverine back for her "shiny new Australia" joke with vengeance, and was still laughing to herself at Wolverine's reaction to her innocent suggestion. Opening her storeroom, she slipped past the counter and into her quarters. It might have been cramped, but it was still home. Most quartermasters used the small back room to live in, at the reasonable expense of some of their storage capacity. It was a reasonable trade-off, as the barracks was ten minutes away from anyone's storeroom and most quartermasters did coursework and paperwork between requests and other duties. As belowdecks jobs went, the QMs were a bit of a non sequitor- similar coursework as the abovedeckers, but with belowdecks responsibility and scholarships. It kept them together as a unit, when they were so separated by distance and responsibilities.

As Saint undressed for bed, an unusual rattle kept pestering her. Knowing that her storeroom was well away from the heavy equipment and machine shops, she grumbled about it and went to bed. Alas, sleep would not take Saint- that damned rattling just got louder, and it wasn't moving. It took half an hour, but Saint finally got fed up with it. Getting up and pulling on a battered robe, Saint grabbed the sock of marbles she kept for discouragement and went out hunting the source of that damned racket. It took a decent amount of walking to triangulate the sound, but Saint kept hunting until she found it.

"It" happened to be what Saint had never expected in her strangest dreams- Quartermaster, curled up in a mess of overhead pipes, cuddling with a massive Persian cat. The rattle had been Quartermaster's snoring as she rested in the arms of Morpheus. A whole minute passed, and Saint was staring at the odd sight. Harrumphing, Saint started looking for a way to get her boss down without waking her up. Quartermaster might have been the lord and master of the division that shared her name, but Saint was the undisputed queen of War Room Duex for her steady eyes and hands. Each one of the four lieutenants' jobs had undergone metamorphosis as the panic faded away, and Saint's domain had the most radical changes over the week. From her starting post as the assembler of War Room Duex, she had become the master of the people who worked within its borrowed walls. Saint was the maintainer of War Room Duex, a position held as sacred to the rankings within as one who tended the Garden of Eden. She was their landgravine, their lady, mistress of home and hearth whom kept them able to do their duties to Quartermaster. It was an interesting balance of power- Thunderbird acquired the wares, maintained the books, and set the tasks; Wolverine made their trade goods reality and their tanks functional to fight; Saint kept their bodies together to do the work; just as Hourglass kept the equipment running that allowed them to perform. It was a delicate dance of responsibility they all lived in, and one of them had found the person it depended on and served asleep in a hall. Oh, the conundrum.

Hoisting Quartermaster over her shoulder, Saint started walking back to her storeroom. She had a spare cot and sleeping bag in the main store somewhere, along with some cans of soup and a hot plate. What Quartermaster needed right now was some good old R&R- and Saint aimed to provide.

After getting Quartermaster tucked into what was reminiscent of a bed, Saint grabbed the phone by her terminal. Dialing up Thunderbird's storeroom, she received an answering machine. Her next atempt, Wolverine, fared no better. In a final dial, it proved even Hourglass, a dedicated night owl had gone to bed. Muttering darkly, Saint watched the Persian slip out of a duct, plant himself on Quartermaster's chest, and resume his nap. Growling softly, Saint went to catch herself some sleep as well. It had been a long night.


End file.
